


kedging

by ninata



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/strange fake, ロード・エルメロイⅡ世の事件簿 - 三田誠 | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - Sanda Makoto
Genre: (to an extent. considering fsf isn't done as i write this), Biting, Blowjobs, Headcanon, Implied spoilers, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Reunion Sex, handjobs, most of this won't make sense unless you're caught up with fsf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Svin figures he's the only one who can keep Flat afloat. (FSF spoilers)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for:  
-very minor heteronormativity  
-some minor injury on flat's part (consensual)
> 
> i wanted to redeem my ability to write fsf flvin now that i'm caught up with all the translations.

_ It's that smell, _ Svin tells himself. Like a rotted piece of meat wrapped in muslin, tucked away in a taped up cardboard box in a basement. Hidden, but festering, reeking. Flat oozes something dirty and broken. Something murderous and violent. Something that's killed before.

_ If I can just get rid of that smell, he'll go back to normal. _

He pulls Flat's vest apart. Flat stares at him, and those eyes are everything; intense, endless, pulling him in closer. For the second time that evening, and the third time in their lives, their lips press together, tight at first, then pulling apart. Svin bites down hard onto Flat's bottom lip, and Flat's nails dig into Svin's scalp.

If the professor knew this was the comfort Svin was providing for the recently returned Flat, he'd make them swear not to go near each other.

He has Flat against the door of Svin's hotel room. In the years since Svin had graduated, Svin grew to tower over him. By all means he should feel like he's in control, but he's still following Flat's lead, dumb and innocently hoping for the best as Flat drags him down into something dangerous.  _ Dangerous.  _ Flat was dangerous, always dangerous, sharp to the touch, but now he smells like a bunch of bloody knives.  _ What's with that smell? _ Flat wasn't telling him anything. Secrets as usual, but at least one of them was out.

How long had Svin seen Flat as more than a friend? How long had he wanted him like this?

Flat scratches long, horrible lines down Svin's neck. Svin's knee ducks between Flat's legs, and the feeling of Flat's weight against his thigh sends a shock from the spot their bodies meet to his crotch. It doesn't help that the distance is short. Svin, who has never been allowed such intimacy, swells.

No promise that Flat was fine. No reassurance. Svin wants to drag it all out of him. He wants to pull it out with his teeth.

Flat's hips rock in a steady rhythm, and they're biting each other again, ears and necks and mouths, like something soft wouldn't fit the moment. Just following Flat's lead again, but he wants nothing more than to devour him in that moment, pin him in place and take out hunks of flesh.

_ It'd be so easy,  _ he thinks, watching Flat's red face, eyes closed, mouth open, getting off on him with an air of desperation that was unlike him.

_ But he could've died,  _ Svin reminds himself, mashing their mouths together, pressing his teeth into Flat's tongue.  _ It only makes sense, if he could've died. Besides, he needs me. _

_ I need him. _

Flat pushes him away, and Svin thinks he's made a mistake until Flat keeps pushing him, directing him onto his bed. Svin hits the comforter, and Flat gets on top of him, freckles lost under the rosiness that bloomed in his face. All they used to do on beds were play cards and do homework. What would the Svin that existed four years ago think? He wouldn't even be able to fathom being with someone other than Gray, would he?

Flat just arrived back from America two weeks ago. A certain professor called Svin back from his training abroad to try and patch the issue with him. Flat simply wasn't the same. Flat had fundamentally changed. Flat needed someone familiar. Flat needed him.

Flat needed him, which was why they were like this. Svin hadn't thought about how strange it was yet. This was Flat Escardos, after all; the boy he grew up with, a  _ boy,  _ someone he never would've let himself love when it came down to it; the pursuit of the Root, the Glascheit family, the Escardos family, the burning magic crest in Svin's body, his responsibility. His purpose.

Flat's mouth is warm, salty. Svin and Flat had only kissed once before, as a joke on Flat's part, as a  _ Well, now you've had your first kiss, Le Chien! _ He's getting used to it, used to Flat, but that fucking smell makes his head hurt. His hands take all of Flat's ass into them. "Pervert," Flat teases, and that's a relief, to hear him making a joke like usual, making fun of him again. He pulls Flat down against him, and he sucks on Flat's piercings, listening to him moan as they grind desperately on each other. His grip on Flat gets tighter and tighter as his head begins to float, his body tightly screwed in all the joints, feeling like he can't possibly control himself. Flat whines, and Svin lets go until Flat hastily puts Svin's hands back where they were. It isn't until Svin tastes blood that he realizes he's been biting too hard on Flat's neck, and it makes him feel like a monster again.

Maybe he is.

_ If I just get rid of this smell,  _ Svin thinks as Flat pulls his shirt off over his head,  _ and replace it with mine, maybe he'll go back to normal.  _ Flat is lean and mousy, yet he moves like a predator more than a prey. Those blue eyes shine with nothing behind them, looking straight through Svin as usual. There was a time that made him furious, but now it just makes him sad.

_ Look at me.  _ He wants to say.  _ Pay attention to me. Like me. Be with me. _

Feelings he never wanted to admit to. The iron kettle he calls a heart steams, another painful throb in his pants leads his hands towards Flat's front to help him with his.

As their bare skin touches, they both let out their breath that neither noticed they were holding. Svin grabs Flat's ass again, guiding his body. Flat holds Svin down, his tongue tangled in his. Together, they form one, just like they always did. Just like always, they work in tandem perfectly. Svin could cry, he's so glad that much didn't change.

Blindly they hump each other until Flat works a hand between their bodies, grabbing both of their dicks in his hand. Svin inhales sharply, and suddenly Flat smells a little pleasant, a little inviting. It's a smell he's smelled before, but he can't place it. Something pink, something smooth, something that sits high in his head and floods his skull. He buries his face in Flat's neck, Svin's teeth driving into the skin as he inhales deeply.

He arches his back, tearing around at Flat's back as he tries to find purchase, losing himself in a way he's not too accustomed to. It's not his magecraft, nor is it to pain. Pleasure overrides everything, until he can't think, until his body takes over and Flat jerks everything out of him, coming over the both of them.

—Blood. Too much of it. There are deep purple marks where he was biting, blood trickling down dappled skin. He can catch the outlines of his mouth, and Flat's lip is starting to go near black from the pressure he put on it with his incisors. Obviously, Svin got carried away, but Flat's already healing himself with his magecraft. Svin didn't want to hurt him, but Flat's still pink, a little yellow, fluffier than he was before he dragged Svin down the hall and kissed him. 

Maybe it's okay. Flat matches him well. Flat understands him better than anyone. Maybe more than Svin understands himself.

Flat moves like he's going to sit up, but Svin selfishly drags him down. The disgusting stench from earlier is still there, but it's receded a little.

He holds him tightly in his arms.

"...Svin?" Flat asks, politely as always.

"Please." Svin manages to say. "Stay."

That's all he can say to him. The most comfort he can offer. He can't tell him how much he loves him.

Svin tells himself that he cannot possibly find the words to explain everything. From the first time they laid eyes on each other and Svin declared him broken when they were nine, to the first time Flat asked to sit next to him in class, to the first time Flat called him "le chien", to being dragged through the mud in Iselma, to sending Reines and Caules flying on a broomstick or chasing after Doctor Heartless or his graduating or staying in touch, none of it. None of the safety in listening to his advice in combat, none of the safety in hiding in Flat's room when his nightmares get too vivid and all he can smell is white, cold and colder, none of it. Nothing. To sit Flat down and try to explain to him that the past ten years of their lives Svin spent it admiring him underneath all that resentment and pity...it's simply unthinkable.

Svin feels something he cannot describe. It's featherlight, it's heavier than a cinderblock. Flat Escardos has gotten the best of him in the worst way. In a way, he'd never imagined spending the rest of his life with anyone else, but he knows being with Flat means having no one to pass his crest onto. It means earning his family's scorn, it means giving up on the Root. It means something he isn't sure he can even let himself think, a lifetime of frustration and happiness, enduring the teasing of the world's number one idiot, the smartest person after the professor, Flat Escardos.

Flat Escardos was still alive. Flat Escardos survived. Svin realizes he's crying before he realizes Flat's crying too, and he swallows down the taste of blood.

_—Ah. How greedy._

He won't let go. Not yet. It may be Flat in the lead always, taking Svin by the wrist and tumbling into danger with him in tow, but if it means saving him, Svin will haul him by the anchor along until he hits the shore. No matter what it takes, no matter what it means. That was the kind of stubborn devotion Svin had.

Whatever happened in Snowfield, Nevada, he'll make sure Flat doesn't suffer for it forever.


	2. always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not him, but it's enough. Svin keeps telling himself that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WROTE THIS AFTER VOL 6...BECAUSE...I HATE MYSELF!!! i'm just making this a chapter 2 just because i wanted to prove i'm staying up to date. imagine if i just keep adding chapters of more and more flvin porn as fsf continues to update. MFW  
warnings for uhhhh SPOILERS honestly and really sad blowjobs  
yeah in this hosue we they/them bokuflat!!!

It was always him, with the hair that never seemed to cooperate, sticking up in all odd places and a kind of hay-like gold. It was always him, laughing like nothing in the world mattered, like all life was cosmically worthless, like the weight of a human life meant nothing to him. Or maybe it was that it meant too much.

“I will never be him.” Flat says, their tone too polite. “You’re okay with that?”

Svin nods, and their hands twist together, fingers linking and Svin pulls him, worried as though Flat will crumble if he pulls too roughly.

Flat Escardos, as Svin knew him, was dead. He had to welcome back a murderer in his friend’s body, whose smell matched the boy he met some ten years ago. They called themself Flat, but the way they spoke about themself was as if they were an alien. Svin swallows down his pride. Something monstrous seems to grip him, as though possessed by some kind of demon.

Svin sinks to his knees, fiddling with the fly of Flat’s pants. The look on Flat’s face is hard to read as Svin takes their dick in his mouth, unsure and optimistic at something he had  _ sworn _ to himself he’d never do. Be with Flat like this, or another man, or anything. He watches as Flat’s eyes shut, as their lips hang open, wet and red. The pressure on Svin’s tongue and throat is strange, and he finds it doesn’t quell the unbearable heat growing in the pit of his stomach. His hips keep shifting, desperate for friction as he laps at Flat’s length, waiting for the joke or play on words that will never come. A dog with a bone or something, but this Flat refused outright to call him le Chien.

Flat whimpers, smoothing Svin’s hair weakly, and Svin rolls his tongue around the head of Flat’s cock. Flat groans, then, with a sudden forcefulness, pulls Svin’s hair and tugs him back down the length. Experimentally, as if to see if they can get away with it, and their eyes crack open to look and see if Svin’s gagged or trying to get away, but if anything, Svin’s desperate to be used by them. Is that so wrong? Flat holds his head in place as they fuck him, and Svin shuts his eyes, the noise of spit and whatever he can’t help but make filling the space between them.

Svin’s hard enough to hurt, but Flat fucks his face hard enough to keep his hands from wandering to himself. He wanted it hard, anyway. The person Svin had loved all this time was dead, and he hadn’t even known he had loved him. This is enough, bodies is enough, seeing that face leer at him with an almost condescending lustiness was enough. Svin wants so badly to be good, wants so badly to right that wrong, and he swallows it all when Flat comes down his throat, gasping for breath and dizzy when he falls back on his hands, staring up at Flat with a wet chin and his chest rising and falling with a terrible ache.

“Svin,” Flat says, licking their lips, looking like they feel a little bad, “You know he loved you, right?”

Svin recoils like he’s been slapped. His dick throbs miserably, because it’s what he always longed for, but it’s too late. This Flat’s hand ducks under his chin, tilting his face up to see them.

“But he never saw you like this…” They smell conflicted. “I guess I have something he doesn’t, now.”

They seem to be satisfied by that sentiment. Svin doesn’t know what to say to them, but he manages anyway.

“Fuck me.”

“A little desperate, aren’t you?” Flat smiles sadly. “It’s not going to fix anything.”

“Just— let’s forget him for a bit.” Svin wobbles to his feet, taking Flat’s wrist in his hand. His throat burns raw. “I know you aren’t him. I don’t care, for now.” Svin leads their hand to his crotch, burying his face in that hair. “I don’t care if you’re not him. Just...j-just fuck me.” His other hand lands on Flat’s shoulder, and their bodies rest against each other.

“I’m a stranger to you,” Flat smells perfectly pink, and that’s more than Svin could ask for. “...You’re weird.”

Was it because they were so close? Maybe they would’ve been content never to say anything to each other about it for the rest of their lives. They’d marry high class girls with long magic lineages who would give them talented children to pass their crests onto. Flat rubs his erection through his pants, and Svin shudders. This Flat isn’t his Flat, but maybe his Flat never would’ve fucked him, either. Maybe he was too coy, or they were idiots.

Flat’s hand slips under the waistband of Svin’s pants, under his underwear. It brushes past his pubic hair and onto his dick, and Svin chokes a little. Maybe in every other world but this, they’d never have the courage. Or maybe they would, and Svin would’ve loved him forever, been happy with him and gotten married to him and spent the rest of his life with him, and this was simply the worst scenario, where Flat got his head blown off his shoulders and a stranger came back to the Clock Tower.

He doesn’t know. He never will. 

Flat jerks Svin off roughly, but there’s a tenderness in it that’s palpable. Flat runs their hand back through Svin’s hair, then yanks it so his head tilts up, sucking on the skin of his throat. Svin always loved him, and it was always him, with his blue eyes and sun-kissed freckles and general mousiness, gangly limbs and thin fingers, laughing and bouncing around and staring out into the world like the atmosphere was the only thing keeping him down. Distant and far away, like a space traveller that landed on Earth and is pretending like he didn't want to go back home. Flat is harsh sunshine and droughts, Flat is unforgiving and dry, Svin loves him, he  _ loved  _ him, his best friend and the idiot who follows him around and drives him insane, why the fuck did this happen?

They pull it out of him. Their hand works him until the thoughts slow and he can’t think, until he shakes against their grip and comes into their hand. 

Svin grips them like iron, like if he doesn’t he’ll be the one crumbling. He feels fragile, like he’s the broken one after everything’s said and done. 

“...Svin?”

“I’m...pathetic, aren’t I?” Svin shakes his head. “You don’t need to lie. I...couldn’t do it with him, so I dragged you into it. You...must hate me.” Svin can still taste him, and it still doesn’t feel like he’s beat out this intense hunger. “But I can’t…I-I can’t leave you alone, now. Even if you’re not my Flat, I...I don’t want it to happen again. So please…”

“...I understand.” They press a short kiss to Svin’s jaw. “I’ll try my best to be—“

“Don’t.” Svin cuts them off. “Just be you. Whoever you are, I’ve made up my mind.”

Flat goes quiet. Their hand creeps onto Svin’s thigh, and Svin’s heartbeat starts to speed up. There’s a pang of desire in his body again, sick desire, something he hopes to beat back all the grief with. Wielding it like a weapon, he presses into Flat, eyes heavy and hands heavier. 

“Alright. I get it.” Flat smiles against Svin’s neck. “Then I’ll try my best to make you forget him.”

He’ll take whatever he can get. Whatever scraps there are, he’ll greedily snap them up. Whatever stranger is left in Flat’s body, Svin will stay as close as they’ll allow.

Flat fucks him all night. Magecraft keeps the two of them going, using their education for nothing good as usual. Flat's warm inside him, burning heat and pressure, like his body is an autoclave. Maybe he’ll burst. He never thought he wanted Flat like this, never let himself admit it, wrote up any inklings or phantoms of feelings to his imagination. 

That's why it was too late. As Flat wipes sweat off his forehead, Svin finally lets a few frustrated tears escape. The way they kiss him makes him feel empty. He wants more. He wants everything. If he’s empty, he wants Flat to fill him up until he does burst. 

But what does it mean? In the end, it’s a big nothing. Coming doesn’t stop Svin’s beating heart, doesn’t get rid of all the times Flat’s hands pushed his shoulders or smushed his face, all the times they almost died together, or tumbled into some trouble they knew they’d escape together, hand in hand.

The astounding emptiness that pervades Svin’s senses the harder this Flat fucks him, the harder he urges him on, an endless loop. He will never be satisfied. If he feels grief, he doesn’t let it catch him. He won’t. Those eyes, that hair, that unmistakable voice, it’s enough, it’ll be enough, he’ll make it enough. 

When morning comes, they pack a few belongings together and leave the Clock Tower for good. 

If Svin has to become a bad person, then that’s fine. If he has to give up everything he was to chase after this one happiness, then so be it. If he has to disappoint all the Glascheit family, has to forfeit his crest or stay on the run forever, if he has to hurt people to protect Flat or earn the scorn of everyone he’s ever known…

That's fine. 

Because he can’t lose Flat ever again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> naeem be like (references heaven's feel) (references heaven's feel) (references heaven's feel)  
thanks for the read!

**Author's Note:**

> hoooofoffhghhghg...  
this is...pretty good! i'm pretty pleased with this one. i like how neither me nor vitriol have tackled writing from flat's perspective yet (ITS GONNA BE SO HARD...THE CHAOS) but anyways here's the usual shit from me  
two uploads in a month...unheard of  
i need to write more.. but i got hired so i got work. we'll see


End file.
